Tension. Introversion. Brokenness. Healing. Glory.

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The wealth of information at our fingertips is vast, yet no matter how hard we try, our ability to absorb it is weak.

 

Tension.

This is the state of existence that an introvert resides in. Tension, like a rubber band pulled taut. There is a consistent pull of her level of comprehension and normalcy at any given times. Some people think that the term introvert means that she doesn't like to interact with people, but this couldn't be farther from the truth; she longs to interact, she longs to embrace the exuberance of the people around her, she longs to belong in the social world.

 

The reality is though, that she sees the world through different eyes, and as such, she must live out her perception of it. Though you often will find her on the outskirts of a crowd, unable to reach out, there are times that she is able to mask it, temporarily of course. This dichotomy is deafening, defeating, differentiating, yet deliberate. You see, God made her this way, with forceful intention and descriptive creation. "I knit you together in your mother’s womb, carefully constructing the woman I want you to be" he says.

 

Perception. It is the way you see the world. This girl will always see more than necessary. She will stand at the concert taking in the music that overstimulates her ears, she will absorb the flashes of light, she will notice the irregular stance of the couple in front of her, she will notice the quality of the fabric that covers the skin of those around her. She hears the whispers and the mutterings of those around her. The lady across the room with the elegance of a monarch butterfly catches her eye, while another fellow introvert to the left of her shrugs off the caress of his girlfriend; his mind is overtaken also and that touch puts him over the edge. This girl catches every spilled drink, every odd look, and every thudded trip on the stairs next to her.

 

                                                                             

Overstimulation like a bad drug will run your mind, body, spirit, and emotions into the ground. An overdose of endorphins;  your body can't take it and shuts down as more stimuli is presented. Sometimes I wish that I could share the way I see the world with others, moments like these are too torturous to bear, and wouldn’t it help to have someone carry the burden? Tears well up as I write that last line. Yes, it would be nice, yet empathy can only go so far. The reality is that you can only understand what you yourself have discovered.

 

 

I try and compose my heart, but the rhythm of my day is beating down on me. Grind, settle, tamp, pull, froth, pour, flourish, repeat. There is simplicity to this monotony, yet the excessive babble of those around me crashes into my harmonious relationship with the espresso machine. The only way I am able to survive in the world of an extrovert, is through the rhythm of this complex process of extraction; making coffee soothes my mind.

 

Grind, babble, settle, yammer, tamp, gush, pull, yap, froth, yell, pour, sigh, flourish, marvel, repeat. What is it about this position where people feel the need to expose their souls and share their depths? I fail to see the similarities between me and the shrink, yet so it goes, an outpouring of the human condition with every drink made.

 

 

Stimulus can be addicting. As stated before the rush of endorphins to the adrenal glands is exhilarating. Addiction though, will kill you in the end. The overload to the system always comes at different times. I pull up to the gas station realizing my car is facing the wrong way, a simple problem with an easy solution, but not today. Today, I cannot fathom the intricacies of the geometric pattern it will take to get my car in the right lane, facing the right direction. I know I cannot see what I must do, but I try it anyway. More cars begin to fill the lines for the twelve pumps ahead, and my options for successful entry dissipate, seconds pass with the thud of blood rushing through my veins, my heart swells as the race to feed my brain oxygen ensues. My breath becomes shallow as the cars close in around me. I forcefully exclaim some profanity or another and then the torrent unleashes: “Why can I not do this?” “Why is this simple task so hard?” “What the hell is wrong with me?!” I finally admit defeat as I almost back into another car, my heart is thudding so loudly it leaves little room in my body for anything but forceful motion of the blood pumping thruough extremities.

 

Overstimulation should be fair reason to take ones license away. When your body tenses through the climax, the remaining reality of claustrophobia ensues. As your brain shuts out all excessive provocations, the natural state of  seeing everything becomes an oppressive reality. In protection your body gives you tunnel vision, your hearing goes dim, and forward momentum becomes as difficult. It’s as if you are suddenly swimming through Karo syrup. Everything goes eerily far away, yet the dimmed perceptions only mask. Your mind knows it is being tricked. Subtle reality check ensues and a crash of mental acuity begins. The world is closer than I perceive it, and in a flash all deceptions fade away, the reality left behind is stark and closer than my skin. The  protective haze is gone and the world is so present. I cave in and simply want to sleep, this caustic moment must decease!

 

 

Pull over, shut your eyes, breathe deeply, sense nothing. As if you could separate the heat from the flame, the logic of this notion compels you to scoff at the very nature of your predicament, but you must try. “Lord help me!” Breathe. “Become the peace you promise me!” Breathe. “Be with me in this moment of suffering!” Breathe. “God let this cup pass!” I selfishly cry. Breathe. In. Out. In. Out. In Out. Deeply the rhythm once again calms my soul. “Ok, Lord if you ask me to suffer this way, then I ask that your glory shine brightly through it. Take this heartache and use it for your fame.” Breathe, deeper in my core with each gasp, closer to the nature of my being with each exhaustive exhale. They say that Yahweh literally means breath. Every deeper grasp of oxygen I take, draws in the essence of the Divine. Even in this broken moment God is significantly present. As I push away from the world around me, I settle in the deeper understanding of why God made this broken reactionary trail that leads me straight into the arms of my Savior.

 

 

I cannot love God rightly. I have no capacity for the fullness this requires. I have no capability to see him in the strange extraordinary places. In my dim understanding, I love him as I must, but in these terrifying moments of human brokenness, I love him as I am. God goes out of his way to woo me, and this is why I would never ask for a more sympathetic understanding. God fully knows me in the darkest places of my soul, he transcends all understanding and reality to paint the canvas of my life with the enormous reality of his love. Broken I may be, that Christ, be the glory that shines in my healing is his and his alone.